


the way home

by elevenhurricanes



Category: Distant Shores (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Choices: Stories You Play - Freeform, Established Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Pixelberry, Sex, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25901344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenhurricanes/pseuds/elevenhurricanes
Summary: In which traveling to the past is only half the battle; or: Elena finds her way back.
Relationships: Edward Mortemer/Main Character (Distant Shores)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this story contains a mix of historical events and fictional / non-fictional locations, the only caveat being that characters from the 21st century might call the countries by their current names and not their old ones, and vice versa. Having to incorporate “you now know it as [country name]” slows down a lot of the dialogue.

“You heard what my colleague said.” Robert’s voice sounds from the backseat, pulling her from her study of the countryside. “If this doesn’t work, then we may get stuck somewhere else with no--”

“Fuck that,” Elena cuts him off. “It’s going to work.”

He rolls his eyes at her in the rearview mirror, but says nothing more. They’ve spent enough time together over the last two years that he’s learned when to stop bothering with trying to change her mind. 

“Damn straight it better work,” her sister Gabby says around a mouthful of sour gummy worms. “I didn’t put two-thousand miles on my car for you all to get skunked.” 

Robert makes a face at the unusual term. “Are you forgetting that if we get caught then you’re an accessory before the fact?” he points out. 

“Yeah, but that won’t really affect my trade-in value, now, will it?”

Up ahead along the highway, a yellow sign reads: _Welcome to New Mexico; Land of Enchantment_. With Colorado in the rearview now, Elena pushes out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart as the pockmarked landscape passes in a blur. 

She’s tired of having her fate sealed, printed onto expensive cardstock, and ogled by museum-goers. _What a life she led!_ _How tragic, though, about Captain Mortemer spending all that time searching for her!_ the people at the museum tut and shake their heads before moving on to the next room. Elena’s tired of coming back home, of staring at that portrait of him and wondering if it’s the last she would ever see of him. 

During their four trips to the past, she’d managed to find Edward only twice. Though she was glad to be leaving it behind, there was something to be said about the ease of communication in the twenty-first century. After their last return, Elena and Robert didn’t bother with the faulty compass or time anomalies. Every deadend, every long night of research, and every weekend trip to scope out a lead was for the assurance that this would be their final voyage to the past. There would be no more time-hopping, no more disappearing for months at a time. With each stone they overturned, there was hope that it would bring them here. Here, she bemuses, to the long stretch of empty highway between southern Colorado and northern New Mexico. 

The trip to South Dakota had been a last-ditch effort. Robert’s old colleague from Oxford let him know about a warehouse hidden away in the Badlands, rumored to house hundreds of artifacts -- including the one they were after. Convincing Gabby to be their getaway driver was the hardest part; putting on a show of being a damsel in distress with a broken-down car and incapacitating the guards was much easier, in Elena’s opinion. 

Under her touch, the artifact in her hand glows the same eerie shade of blue as the compass. The whistle is a tarnished gold, engraved with the initials of a sailor who escaped H.M.S. _Fletcher_ after its sinking off Cape Horn in 1890. News articles about the event were vague. The sailor’s diary, however, detailed his two days trapped in an air pocket, blowing his whistle desperately for help, and suddenly appearing on the shore eight years in the past. The only corroboration was the event log of a fisherman who watched the man “step out of thin air.” By all accounts, the tale was nothing more than a fantastical story. 

They reach Urraca Mesa with plenty of light left -- surprising, given that they were forced to hike around the scout ranch that owns the property. The mesa glows crimson in the afternoon sun, towering above them as they make their way up the trail. Elena’s duffel bag smacks against her thigh with every step. Along the next rise, Robert stops and consults his map with a scowl. 

“The lodestone minerals makes navigating this place a pain in the arse,” he grumbles as his compass refuses to cooperate. The needle jerks back and forth, never settling on a clear direction. 

“Does it have to be exactly on the ley line?” Elena asks, fidgeting with her bag’s strap to move it to a less sweat-drenched part of her back. 

“Of course it does. That’s why we drove all the way down here in the first place. The electromagnetic energy is at its peak along--”

“Okay, okay!” Gabby interrupts. “How about we try something else: do you have the exact coordinates?”

“Yes, but a compass doesn’t _work_ like that.”

“Yeah, but a phone _does_ ,” she snaps back, tugging her phone from her backpack. “Lemme have ‘em.”

“We’re too far out of range for cell service.”

“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot.”

Robert sighs, then flips his map over for the coordinates scribbled on the back. Gabby’s fingers fly across her screen. Within a minute, the automated voice is telling them to continue south for 256 feet.

“Verizon,” she offers at his look of surprise. 

_You have arrived at your destination!_ the phone announces as they come to a copse of trees underneath the mesa’s shadow. Elena isn’t sure she really believes in all of Robert’s theories about magnetic fields, but there’s something different here. An odd sensation tingles down her spine and through her fingers, as if she’s touching a live wire. The smell of ozone is heavy, as if a tremendous rain fell moments ago, though the desert is bone-dry. 

“Well?” Robert motions to the whistle in her hand. 

She lifts the whistle to her lips and blows. Its shrill cry pierces the air, the mesa’s steep walls echoing the noise. At first, nothing. Then, as if ripping a seam through the fabric of reality, a portal cleaves the open air before them. That blinding blue-and-white color shimmers before them. 

“Holy fuck.” Gabby grabs her arm and squeezes. “You-- you weren’t making this shit up.” 

At that, Robert turns and lifts an eyebrow at her, a smirk stretching across his face. 

“You think we’d make you drive two-thousand miles for a practical joke?”

“I mean, we used to play them on each other growing up,” she says. “But this would be one hell of a trick.” 

“No trick,” Elena tells her, turning her attention away from the portal and back to her sister. “But it does mean…” she trails off, her throat too tight to finish the sentence. 

With tears welling in her eyes, Gabby throws her arms around her and hauls her in for a tight hug. The portal sparkles against Elena’s closed eyes; tears drip steadily down her face. 

“You’re really sweaty,” Gabby complains against her hair, prompting a laugh from her sister. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring anything, because there’s no CVS on the other side.”

“I’ll be okay. I have everything I need. And there’s always the local market.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re stock-full of tampons and condoms.” 

Robert clears his throat, gesturing to the portal when both sisters glance over at him. 

“I’m sorry, but we really need to go, sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how long the portal will stay open. If it closes, we may not get another chance.” 

Elena nods, crushing her sister against her one last time before letting go.

“I know you’ll have a badass sword or whatever, but make sure you use those moves I taught you,” Gabby tells her. “I didn’t close up shop at the gym for a whole day just for you to rely on weapons only.”

“Okay,” Elena nods. “I will.” 

“And try to get a message to me. I’ll keep an eye out for any new pirate documents and artifacts. There’s a subreddit I follow that keeps me up-to-date.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And tell that little boy of yours, whenever he comes along, that he has a really cool aunt.”

“Okay,” Elena promises, her voice breaking around the words, “I will.”

Nodding at Robert, she walks with him to the portal’s edge. This close, she can smell the salty wind and feel the humidity of the Caribbean. Glancing back at her sister, she gives her a watery smile. 

“Love you,” they say in tandem, prompting the other to chuckle. 

After a final wave, Elena turns and links her arm through Robert’s. 

“Ready?”

“Ready.” 

Together, they step into the portal, and the world closes up behind them. For the briefest moment, she glimpses that swirling mass of colors that surrounded the _Intrepid_ during the chase with the Admiral. Then: white sand; a blazing, blue sky; palm trees swaying along the curve of a coastline. The salty wind that she caught the scent of earlier rushes past, a cool balm against her sweaty skin. Across the blue stretch in front of them, ships cruise toward the shore, their sails trimmed for an easy docking. Through the trees to the west, a bustling town sits above a busy port. 

“Where are we?” Elena asks, squinting at the buildings to see if she can recognize where they’ve landed. 

“Santo Domingo -- though you’d know it as the Dominican Republic,” Robert explains. “That white flag with the odd-looking red ex is a symbol of the Spanish empire. The ships out there are flying the same colors.”

“Okay. Now, more importantly, _when_ are we?” she asks.

“The Spanish ruled this half of Hispaniola between 1697 and 1795.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” she scoffs, “just a hundred-year span of time.” 

“Quiet, I’m not finished. Do you notice something off about the buildings? Extensive damage like that isn’t caused by a tropical storm. That would be hurricane-force winds.” As he lectures, he swings the bag on his shoulder round and starts to dig through it. “In 1754, Santo Domingo was hit with what would’ve been a category three hurricane. Twelve ships were lost.”

“That history degree of yours is coming in clutch,” she says, grinning when he scowls at the slang term.

“Our only real way of knowing, of course, is to go into town and find out.” 

Pulling a tube from his bag, Robert bends to set it down in front of the portal. She forgot it was there at all, too excited at the prospect of returning home. “I’d advise you to retreat,” he tells her as he backs away, a pistol in his other hand. 

Elena heeds his warning and follows him several paces away. She claps her hands over her ears just as Robert pulls the trigger. The gunpowder explodes into a ball of fire, eating away at the portal until it collapses in on itself, blinking from existence. 

“So.” Her words sound muffled to her, still ringing from the blast. “That’s why you didn’t want to fly to South Dakota.”

“Not really. I just hate flying.”

“Convenient that you picked a century when airplanes haven’t been invented yet.” 

Robert grins at her and shrugs, though the jovial expression drops from his face as he gestures to the whistle, still clutched in her hand. 

“For the next item on the agenda, you need to get rid of that.”

“What? No!” Elena takes a step back and holds it against her chest. 

“Elena--”

“Not until I find Edward. If we went too far in time, then this was all for nothing.”

He settles his hands on his hips and shakes his head at her. 

“If you hold onto that, you’ll be drawing unwanted attention to yourself. There are those that can… sense power in objects. You’d be wise to toss that thing into the sea.”

“Later,” she snaps, then hesitates, trying to reign in the irritation at his lack of understanding. “Look, I know that for you, your goal is complete: you’re back. But mine isn’t.” 

Robert grimaces, glancing away and towards the ocean beyond. Finally, the set of his shoulders loosens and his breath escapes him in a sigh. He digs through the bag at his side for a moment, before pulling out a long, gold chain. 

“Here.” He takes the whistle from her and loops it through the chain. “So you don’t lose it in the meantime.” 

Elena settles the necklace across her chest; the whistle disappears into the top of her shirt, hidden from view. 

“Thanks.”

“Now,” Robert gestures towards the town, “let’s bury these bags and go see about this pirate of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> The warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands is a reference to Warehouse 13, a show about a warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands.


	2. Chapter 2

Throngs of people breeze through the streets of the port town, unfazed by the stacks of boards and pallets of bricks that block sections of the main route. 

The hurricane’s damage is much more obvious this close: swatches of roofs torn away, replaced with makeshift sheets of tin, the steeple of a nearby church gone, with only splinters remaining. Elena recalls the story about how she saved her home from a hurricane and hopes that she hasn’t arrived too late. Having wasted time doubling back to her buried bag and stowing away the clothes she arrived in, she hurries through the packed streets as best she can. The new boots pinch at her feet with every step. It would be nice, she bemuses, if she could keep her clothes with her when she travels back in time. 

“Would’ve saved me a fortune,” she mutters, navigating around two men haggling on the price of a goat. 

Complaints aside, she loves the feel of the silk vest against her skin, of the fresh leather across her hip where her new sword gleams in its holster. She even bought a cavalier hat, excusing its purchase with the protection from the sun it offered. 

It’s nice to be back, to resume her role as Elena McTavish, infamous pirate. The years of holing up in her sister’s apartment or Robert’s hotel rooms, scouring documents and scrolling through endless message boards for time-traveling artifacts was no life to call her own. The occasional trip to Calgary or Edinburgh or New Orleans to hunt down a lead was the closest she ever came to a real adventure back home. 

Up ahead, she spots the tavern and winds her way through the crowd to reach it. The inside is as dimly lit as any other pub she’s been to, no matter the century. Ignoring the jeer of a drunken man near the door, she makes her way to the table Robert has commandeered near the back. His new attire fits him well, colored dark as to blend in with the shadows -- just as he likes. He slides a mug to her before launching into his update. 

“I found us a ship. Decent crew. They need four extra hands.”

Elena sips at the ale and raises her brow. “Did you tell them that the two of us are just as good as four men?” 

“Aye, that I did.” A smirk flashes behind his mug. “They agreed to take us aboard. I told ‘em that we’re interested in finding an associate who’s likely to be farther north. As it so happens, that’s where they’re headed for a trade route.”

“Did they know anything about--”

“You know as well as I do that Edward has made enemies -- none as big as the Admiral, but enemies nonetheless. I thought it wise to keep mum about who exactly we’re looking for, especially when they’re our ride out of here.”

Elena frowns, though she dips her head in acknowledgement to his point. “I asked the ladies in the shop, but they didn’t recognize his name. This port gets its fair share of traffic.”

“Aye, we’ll have better luck with the smaller islands.” After a subtle glance at the other patrons, Robert leans over the table and drops his voice to a mumble. “I managed to find a few of my old contacts. Both of them said the same thing: that he’s offering a bounty of sorts for information on you.”

She takes a slow sip of her drink and attempts to act nonplussed. “When did they hear about this bounty? Recently, or…?” 

“Within the last three months. So, that tells us that he’s in the area.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to hide the daunting weight to her words, “the area of one million square miles.” 

“Oi.” He nudges her arm, bringing her sour gaze up from her mug and back to him. “The hardest part is over. We made it back -- and this time, hopefully, for good. Don’t beat yerself up. I told you that I’d stick with you until we find him, and I will.” 

Elena settles in her chair, holding back the relieved sigh that’s building in her chest. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that means to her. 

On their first return, he’d all but left her in the dust when the wormhole they used spit them out in a church in Salvador, down on Brazil’s coast. When their time ran out and they were both sucked back to the future a few weeks later, the leopard had changed its spots, so to speak, and Robert admitted his own faults with trying to go at it alone. 

“How do you manage to slip back into the accent so well?” she asks, unsubtly changing the topic at hand. 

“Helps if you learned to do so in the first place. When you first showed up, you hardly attempted to assimilate. Didn’t help you any when you waved yer mobile about.”

“Says the man who stuffed gunpowder into little tubes and tried to pass it off as an original idea? And it’s not my fault that I ended up being put on trial! Edward was the one who broke the Code by letting me come aboard.”

Robert shrugs off her point, hiding his grin behind the glass. 

“We would’ve shot you first, if that’s any consolation.” 

“Honestly, as someone who swam half a mile in a dress, it is.” 

\------

Adjusting the sails alongside Rhodes, the ship’s boatswain, Elena looks out across the deck of the _ Little Death _ and to the green spot on the horizon. 

The ragtag crew welcomed them with somewhat open arms, more desperate than anything else to have help running their sloop. It didn’t hurt, of course, that Elena and Robert knew their way around boarding and pillaging merchant ships. On their journey from Santo Domingo’s port, they manage to pin down two ships along Hispaniola's southern shore, and then another as they pass by Tortuga, long abandoned by the buccaneers that ran it during the mid-seventeenth century. After stopping briefly in the West Indies to gather more crew, they head north into Great Britain’s territory. The islands here are smaller, clustered together within twenty to sixty nautical miles of each other. 

“Sail ho!” someone cries from up in the crow’s nest. “Got a brig comin’ ‘round to starboard!” 

Along with everyone else, Elena eagerly searches the expanse of water. The Red Duster flag fades into view soon enough. She frowns at the British merchant vessel, turning the ugly flare of disappointment into fierce determination when she boards it twenty minutes later. 

The merchant crew is really no match, she finds, after tying several of the men together with their own twine. Captain Delaney, a chiseled man without a single ounce of humor in his entire body, gets right to business with giving his crew orders on what to plunder. 

“Montgomery and Lear, supplies!” he shouts. 

Snapping into action, Elena and Robert disappear down the ladder and into the ship’s hull. It had been his idea, of course, to use fake surnames. There was no need for their temporary crew to know their real names, especially with the rumor of a reward for--

“McTavish!” a voice blurts from the darkened corridor. 

Her step falters; she knocks her shoulder against the wall before righting herself.

“Keep moving,” Robert hisses in her ear, brushing past to hide her from immediate line of sight. 

“Shut up!” Rhodes demands over the sickening slap of skin on skin. 

“What if it’s--”

“It’s not,” Robert cuts her off, bending down and shoving a crate of supplies into her lax hold. “If it were, they’d call you by yer given name.” He moves about the room as he speaks, pitching his voice below whoever is outside calling for her. “Don’t look at them. Make them think they’re just confused.” 

Shifting the crate in her grip, Elena nods her head. “Got it.” 

“C’mon.” He dumps a smaller box on top of hers in an effort to hide her face. “If the captain wants more’n this, he can send down another--”

“Elena McTavish!” the voice cries again when they exit the room. “I know it’s you -- it’s me, Doyle! Officer Doyle! Please, you can’t let them kill me!” 

Behind her mountain of supplies, Elena rolls her eyes at his begging. Robert’s nudge at her back urges her to ignore the man. Their path is blocked by other members of the crew waiting their turn to return to the deck, leaving her at the mercy of Doyle’s pitiful wails. “I -- I have a family, now, a wife and a little boy. Please, you have to tell them to let me go!” 

“Oi!” Rhodes knocks him back against the wall with a kick to his ribs. “What did I say?” 

“I’m sorry, please, I’ll -- I just -- Elena, please, I helped you when--”

“For god’s sake, shut up!” she snarls. She turns on her heel to face him, but Robert blocks her with his own bulky crate. “We aren’t going to kill you, you idiot. And my name isn’t McTavish. I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“I don’t understand. Please, Elena, you’re my only hope! You can vouch for--”

“Rhodes?” she calls down the corridor. 

The sharp thunk of skull meeting wood echoes through the small space. Her lungs seize, unable to see the damage for herself as guilt races through her. 

“You’ve a soft heart, Rhodes,” another of their crew says with a smirk. “I woulda done more’n knock him out.” 

Elena clenches her jaw against the grating noise of laughter. Robert joins in, adding his own insult that gets them going once more. Adjusting his load, he reaches down and pats her arm, nodding at the question in her eyes. She welcomes the breath of relief that fills her lungs. 

After they leave the merchant ship behind, Rhodes approaches her out on the deck. He drapes his arm around her shoulder in a casual gesture. Elena decides to ignore the gaze he seemingly has trained on her breasts. 

“I thought your name was Elena Montgomery?”

“It is,” she scoffs. “Moron mistook me for some poor lass, I guess.”

“Hmm. Poor lass indeed,” he agrees. 

Glancing up, his face tightens around a grimace before his smirk springs back. His hand squeezes her shoulder for a beat before he moves off with a wink.

“God, could he be any more obvious?” she asks without bothering to look up from her task.

Robert grunts in agreement, chuckling under his breath.

“Aye, he’s probably considering what he could buy himself with that many pieces of eight.” 

“How many, exactly?” Elena questions, curious. 

“Six-hundred, according to my contacts.” 

Her jaw drops a fraction before she snaps her mouth closed. “The same payout as losing an arm, depending on a ship’s Code. Which is, I imagine, what Edward’ll do if Rhodes here threatens you to get that coin.”

“That’s…” she trails off, still trying to move past the sum. 

“Not his best play, I’ll give you that.” He tips his head to the side in consideration. “But it keeps mouths moving, keeps people looking.” 

Finishing off her last knot, Elena shifts to lean against the railing. She could corner Rhodes when night comes and threaten to slice his balls off if he tells anyone else -- but then that would be all the convincing he would need. Keeping her head down is probably the best way to go about it, but that runs the risk of him feeling brave enough to pull a stunt on her down the line. 

“Dead men tell no tales,” she recites in a sing-songy tone. 

Robert steps up to join her at the railing and crosses his arms, glaring out over the deck at the man in question. 

“Leave him to me.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever Robert says or does against Rhodes seems to work.

For the next week, as they hop from island to island, he gives Elena a wide berth. It doesn’t stop the death glares he gives her on the regular, but she’ll take those over him dropping a sack over her head and kidnapping her, as her nightmares depict. 

He can’t ruin today, though. The next outpost is St. Sylvain -- finally, a place where Elena has contacts of her own. Well, Charlie’s, she considers, which brings that familiar rush of heartache. She misses her best friend; misses her snarky, carefree attitude; misses her crude jokes and compassionate heart. Though Robert tries with his sarcastic tongue, he can never measure up to Charlie’s quick wit. 

As soon as the ship docks, Elena is off, flapping a hand at Robert’s reminder to only ask for information from those she trusts. Down the gangplank and across the port, she makes her way into the open-air market and searches along the rows of brightly-colored stalls. As if no time has passed, Bronte leans out from her own stall and waves at her as she approaches. 

“Ah, the fiercest pirate in all the seven seas!” she crows, her wrinkles creasing as she grins. “You’re Charlotte’s friend, aren’t ya? She’s been looking all over for ya.” 

“She has?” Elena asks, tightly clenching the leather strap across her chest. 

“O’course. She was here…” she trails off, tapping a finger against her stall as if counting up the days in her head. “...oh, sometime before the big storm. Was makin’ her rounds of the place, askin’ if ye’d been around.” 

“Did she say where she was headed?”

“Afraid not.” Settling her weight across the table, she opens her mouth, then pauses to squint at something along the market. Elena glances over her shoulder, but spots nothing of interest among the crowded stalls. “But here -- let me give ye something.” 

Bronte bends down and heaves up a basket of what looks like knitting supplies, clicking her tongue as she digs through it. Sweeping her hair to one shoulder, Elena keeps watch of the market until the older woman hums a noise of victory. She pulls out a makeshift cross, bound with red thread. “‘Tis made from the twigs of a Rowan tree. Keep it on yer person. It’ll offer ye protection from evil spirits on yer journey.” 

Given her recent history, Elena’s made a point to avoid picking up any old object. But she doesn’t want to seem rude, and who is she to argue against something that will bring protection? Taking the charm, she tucks it into the pocket of her coat.

“Thank you -- for the protection, and for speaking with me.” 

Bronte smiles at her once more. “If I see young Charlotte, I’ll be sure to send her yer way.”

\------

The rest of the day is a wash. 

Her stop by the St. Sylvain Inn to speak with Mary takes the better part of an hour. Most of that time, however, is taken up by helping Mary toss out an unruly guest. What little chance at conversation they manage to have, Elena finds that her knowledge about Charlie’s whereabouts is limited. 

“She asked if I’d seen you, actually.” Mary’s face brightens at the memory, before she bites at her lip and frowns. “But this was months back. Certainly well before the hurricane.”

At the blacksmith’s, Elena wanders around the shop as the man there speaks with a customer. They hem and haw over the fine details of a new gate, going back and forth about prices. She bides her time by looking at a row of gleaming blades. One of the daggers catches her eye for the level of details carved along the hilt; it reminds her of the pistol Charlie gave her, all those years ago. The customer eventually leaves, having refused such a high cost for ‘such subpar craftsmanship.’

“What can I do for ye, ma’am?” the blacksmith calls out to her, wiping away the sweat on his face. “Interested in anything?”

Elena leaves the wares and crosses the room to be heard above the roar of the forge. “No, sorry. I was wondering if Tripp was working today?”

The blacksmith turns back to his project, tapping at a piece of glowing metal with his hammer. “He don’t work here no more.”

“Oh. Do you know where he works now, then?”

“No.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“Do you know where I can--”

He slams the hammer down and a burst of hot sparks flares up into her face. The sword is in her hand and at his throat before she realizes it -- and before the man has the attempt to lift the hammer in defense. 

“Listen, alright.” He licks his lips and eyes the sword’s gleaming edge. “He left about three months ago. Said that he was going to try and head back home.” 

“Where’s that?” she snaps, though she eases the sword back a few inches to give him the illusion of space. 

“I don’t-- maybe, maybe St. Fisher, or England. I dunno, I never asked. All I know is that he went off, and I haven’t seen ‘im since.” 

Elena flicks her sword away and slides it back into its scabbard, suppressing her smirk at the man’s audible breath of relief. Brushing past another woman on her way out, she starts her trek back to the market to try any other of Charlie’s contacts. She’s nearly reached the main drag when there’s a voice from behind her. 

“Is yer name Elena Montgomery?” 

Elena spins around to face the stranger. It’s the woman from the shop, her auburn hair matted to her neck from the heat -- and, presumably, from chasing Elena down. Her accent is similar to Kendrick’s, her voice low and rich. 

“It is. And you are…?”

“Oh, sorry -- I’m Fran.” She shifts the satchel she carries from one shoulder to the other, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, too, for chasing after you like that. I saw you at the inn, talking with Mary. Are you looking for Edward Mortemer?” 

“I am.” 

“I just met a lad who talked about doing business with him.” 

“When?”

“Two hours ago or so, I think. I was out near the market and we struck up a--”

“No, when did he see Edward?” Elena clarifies.

“Oh.” Fran’s nose scrunches up as she tries to recall. “I think he mentioned it was o’er the summer? I’m not for certain. I can take you to him -- if he’s still at his stall.”

It’s too good to be true. After weeks of searching, a lead like this doesn’t just fall into her lap. She would be a fool to go with some random woman, despite how cute she is. But she can’t turn her back on an opportunity like this. 

“Yes, please,” she all but begs. 

Fran guides her through the streets, clearly a local in her knowledge on how to avoid the congested areas. She isn’t much for talking, which Elena appreciates, as she’s too caught up in her own thoughts. Even if this man saw Edward over the summer, does that mean it was here, or somewhere across the globe? If it was over in Portugal or the Philippines, then what the hell is she supposed to do? What if she returned too late? What if Edward, Charlie, and the crew were one of the twelve ships lost in the storm? Elena fiddles with the necklace, worrying the chain in between her fingers. She knows the risk of using the whistle again -- but she will, if it means saving their lives from such a fate. 

“That’s a pretty charm you have there,” Fran says, breaking the silence between them. “A bit odd-looking, but pretty.”

“Thanks.” Feigning a smile, Elena tries to subtly tuck it back into her shirt.

They reach the market soon enough. Along with Bronte’s, most of the stalls are boarded up or packed away. Out in the harbor, strong winds batter at the ships’ flags and rigging. Thick clouds roll along above the island, warning them of the approaching storm. Across the horizon, lightning dances atop the white-capped waves. Fran continues down to a covered section of the wharf, shadowed by a large building for ship repairs.

“Tommy! You still here?” she calls out as they round the next corner. 

Tucked back along the building are a few more stalls. Their choice in location isn’t lost on Elena. This is where other sorts of deals take place. If it weren’t obvious from the grizzled men that leer at them, the crates of pistols, bolts of fine lace, and casks of wine are enough of a statement on their own. 

“Aye, I’m here.” 

Dread rings its alarm bell loud and clear inside her skull when Rhodes steps out from the group of men. From the corner of her vision, Elena sees several more men approach her from behind. “Very good,” Rhodes croons at Fran, dropping a few coins into her waiting palm.

“I also snagged us this. Figured we could rough it up a bit and pass it off as the Bonnie Prince’s.” From her satchel, she pulls out the dagger Elena eyed at the shop. “And that charm she’s wearin’, that could go for a fair bit o’ coin.” 

The roof groans under the sudden onslaught of rain. Shoddy patch jobs let some of the water through, soaking the dry earth under their feet. Taking the blade from Fran, Rhodes tosses it between his hands, eyeing Elena all the while. That crooked smirk of his widens.

“Fran speaks the truth, ya know. I spoke with your captain not long before the storm. He told me a lovely tale about how he’s sailed the world looking for his love. It brought tears to my eyes, it really did.” 

“Touching,” Elena all but spits back at him. She lifts her chin to keep her eyes on his. Her hand hovers above her sword’s hilt.

“Too many heartless bastards out there, he said, trying to pull one over on ‘im.”

Her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline. “And you’re going to be different?” 

“O’course. He’s been chasing after lies for far too long. The lad wants proof.” Rhodes strikes; he throws an arm across her chest and slams her back into the wall. Her face smacks against the rough stone; she tastes blood on her tongue. “So, I’m going to slice off one of those pretty fingers of yers, and if he don’t respond to that, I’ll keep sending him more until he--”

Elena spits in his face. He reaches to wipe it away and she ducks under his hold, using the muddy ground to slide from his next punch. Knocking his arm away, she slams her fist against his kidneys. Rhodes collapses to one knee and growls out a long string of curses.

“Send him one of yours instead,” she snarls.

Swiping the dagger from his hand, she twirls it and grips it tight before seizing his other hand. The blade slices clean through three of his fingers. His howl of pain disappears under a loud clap of thunder.

“You fucking--”

His insult never lands. With a quick snap of her knee, she knocks his head into the wall. He collapses in a heap, mottled with blood and muck. Elena bends down and wipes the blade on a clean patch of his shirt. 

When she stands up, she finds Fran gone and the other men watching her from a few yards back. Sliding her new dagger into the sheath at her breast, she throws the men a mock salute and heads out into the storm. 

\------

She’s woken by the smell of blood. 

Her hand goes up to attend to her nosebleed before she realizes the scent is a memory from her nightmare, the last dredges of it lingering in the confines of her quarters. Not wanting her bunkmates to wake to the sound of her crying, Elena climbs out and heads for the deck. With the skeleton crew this late at night, she has no trouble sneaking past them to reach her corner of solitude at the stern. 

If she closes her eyes, she can pretend she’s aboard the _Revenge_. The salty ocean breeze and the rhythmic swaying of the ship could fool her so easily. When she opens her eyes, though, there is no Henry badgering her about trying his latest creation; no Charlie sauntering up with a bottle of rum; and no Edward drawing invisible lines between the stars to teach her the constellations. 

The same stars she’s looking up at now, knowing that somewhere out there across the sea, he might be gazing at them, too. 

The small pinpricks of light start to grow fuzzy. Elena folds her arms against the railing and buries her head in them, trying to muffle her crying. The idea of spending another month chasing after Edward is frustrating to no end. If this was her own time, she could just hunt him down on social media or track him down with a PI. Maybe it would be better if she planted her ass down on an island and waited for him, at this rate. 

“Are you bawling because you killed him?”

Elena jolts up in surprise. Her ribs smack against the railing. Rubbing a hand over them to soothe the ache, she turns and glowers at Robert. 

“I don’t remember inviting you to my pity party.”

“You didn’t. I crashed it.” Moving to stand beside her, he spends a long minute overlooking the dark ocean in front of them. Once she’s finished with trying to hide her tears, he asks again. “So, did you?”

“No.”

“A shame.” 

Captain Delaney was the only one to ask about Rhodes when he didn’t return. When no one else responded, Robert mentioned that he decided to take a position on another ship. The lie -- and the fact that no one cared all that much for the man anyway -- seemed to work. Delaney promoted another sailor to Rhodes’s position, and that was that. 

“I should’ve listened to you,” Elena laments, not-so-subtly wiping her tear-stained sleeve against her face. “This woman approached me and said she had information about Edward. I was baited -- hook, line, and sinker.” 

His hands clench tight around the railing. “Love can make you do stupid things.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Aye, actually, I am.” 

“Bullshit,” she says. “You’ve never once mentioned someone important. You only wanted to come back for the freedom, the adventure -- you said so yourself. And I understand that, I really do. The adventure is why I stayed in the first place. I could’ve snuck into Edward’s cabin or seduced him for the compass like _that_ ,” she snaps her fingers for emphasis, ignoring Robert’s snort of disbelief. “But once I had the chance… I stayed. It became about more than the thrill of it.”

“Why is it that you younguns think love is only for the thirty-and-under crowd?” 

“‘Younguns’?” Elena repeats with a grimace. 

“I was trying out some of yer Texas slang.”

“Nobody says that.” When he opens his mouth to protest, she holds up a hand. “Okay, nobody who didn’t fight in the fucking Alamo. But -- seriously, I want to know. Is there someone…?” she trails off, encouraging him to open up. 

Robert lets out a long, ragged sigh before digging into his coat. The compass in his hand is set into a simple wooden box, much less ornate than the previous one. Cradling the compass close to shield it from the wind, he digs a fingernail into a hidden switch and a small compartment slides open from the bottom. A twist of raven-colored hair falls into his palm, tied with a tiny length of twine. He traces his thumb across the coarse texture, his breathing unsteady. 

“His name is Julien. We met in Panama City while searching for Sir Francis Drake’s treasure that he stole from the _Nuestra Señora de la Concepción_. Though we never did find the gold, we ended up running a ship together and stealing some of our own.” Without glancing down, Robert slips the lock of hair back into the compartment and snaps it closed. It’s telling how reflexive it is, as if he repeats the move a hundred times a day. “We didn’t want to deal with the Spanish anymore than we had to, so we sailed to St. Lucia. ‘Twas run by France at the time, and our contact out there bragged about running a smuggling route right under their noses. But when we arrived, we found him in a gibbet. He’d been there a good while. Julien only knew ‘twas him from the ugly, purple trousers he wore.”

Having seen the skeletons hanging along some of the ports, Elena is thankful she missed seeing the late stages of decomposition. “Not long after, we were captured by the French. We managed to escape, but were forced to separate in order to get our crew out. Being French himself, Julien had a better chance at disguising himself as a local. The last I saw of him was when he went back in to retrieve Charlie. And then,” he pauses to clear his throat, “she came out and he didn’t, and we had to escape the island or risk getting caught all over again. And his attempts would’ve been for nothing.”

Elena wants nothing more than to wrap her friend in a hug. Knowing that he’s not big on physical touch, though, she gives what comfort she can by placing her hand alongside his on the railing. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“O’course you didn’t, because I never told you. Even in the future, there are places where our relationship would be met with the business end of a pistol.” Robert shrugs at the idea, but she can see in the set of his jaw how angry it makes him. “But even after I gained your trust and you told me about your past relationships, I felt like I still needed to keep him a secret. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Tell me about him,” she requests.

With a quiet chuckle, Robert shakes his head. “There isn’t enough time in the day to describe him, and I’m not one to wax poetic. But he is… kinder than me, certainly. A better shot than me, too. He’s the one who taught Charlie everything she knows. The chain I gave you, that’s for him.” He puts a hand up when Elena immediately reaches up to return it. “No, no -- that whistle is much too important. The chain isn’t the… I’ve already gotten a new one. I was hoping -- I have my grandfather’s ring that I would like him to wear. If he agrees, o’course.”

She suppresses the smile that wants to form at seeing Robert flustered. 

“You’re referring to him in the… do you know if he’s alive? Where he is?”

“The last confirmed sighting of him was three years ago in Curaçao, a small island off the coast of Venezuela.”

Her brows knit together as she studies him. “Then why are you here, in the north?”

His shoulders sag with the weight of his sigh, though she can see the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. 

“Because I made you a promise, remember? Last year, when we tried our hand at stealing the sceptre from the Crown Room. The only reason I’m not locked up in some Scottish ‘House of Special Purpose’ is because you came back for me. And I told you that I would stay by yer side until we found Edward.”

“I mean, if I had left you there, you would’ve just ratted me out as an accomplice.”

That gets a proper laugh from him. “True enough, but I’ll wager the thought never crossed yer mind, did it, kid?” Her small shrug is enough of a confirmation for him. “Julien’s somewhere out there, waiting for me,” he assures. “The man has the patience of a saint. So, I’ll be sticking with you ‘til then. Make sure you get home safe and all that.”

Annoyed at the night’s second round of tears trying to make their appearance, Elena keeps her eyes on the whitecaps in the distance. 

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” In a rare show of friendship, Robert knocks his elbow against hers and jostles her from the railing. “Seriously, don’t. I do have a reputation to uphold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “House of Special Purpose” is another name for the Ipatiev House, where Emperor Nicholas II, his family, and members of their household were executed in 1918. To my knowledge, there is no Scottish version -- mostly because MI5 operates out of the Thames House in London.


	4. Chapter 4

By the next week, they’ve sailed across most of the northern Caribbean. 

Their crew hits a couple merchant ships and capsizes a few galleons. Captain Delaney is pleased when they manage to sink a frigate off the coast of New Providence, having some long-standing feud with the Royal Navy. Elena considers them to be kindred spirits in that regard. Attacking a royal vessel outright, though, paints a proverbial target on their back. 

They anchor inside a cove on St. Fisher, a hole-in-the-wall port among the long string of islands in the Bahamas. Delaney sends the crew off in a jolly boat to retrieve supplies before trying for Cuba to hide out amongst the Spanish. 

“He’s a moron for attacking them on their own turf,” Robert grumbles as they make their way through the town’s pastel-colored buildings. 

Elena, too busy scanning the shoppers in the market, hums her agreement. The stall up ahead sells gaudy-looking trinkets that catch the sunlight as they swing in the ocean breeze. She wishes she could send one to her sister, somehow. 

The cannonfire comes with no warning. 

Discordant blasts echo across the port again and again and again with not a single pause. Thick, billowing clouds of smoke rise over the palm trees, darkening the blue sky. While everyone rushes deeper into town, Elena and Robert race towards the cove, slicing through the flora and fauna that block their path. Seconds before they reach the flat stretch of sand, he seizes her elbow and covers her mouth, just in time to muffle her cry at the scene before them.

 _Little Death_ is keeled over, resting on its starboard side as flames consume what remains above the waterline. Delaney is nowhere to be found. The crew who made it to shore in time lay sprawled across the beach. The whites of their skulls gleam amongst the blood and brain matter coating the sand around them, each shot execution-style. 

“Their jolly boat’s missin’!” a navy officer calls out. “Search the island!” 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” 

“C’mon,” Robert growls as he swings her around and guides her back up their makeshift path. “We may not know this island, but--”

At the sound of men pushing down the path from town, he picks her up and bodily moves her into the forest’s thick foliage. 

“What the hell are you--”

“Shut up!” he hisses, shoving her down into the cover of wide-leafed bush. “Stay here.”

“What’s your plan then, to offer yourself up on a platter?!” Elena grabs his coat and holds tight, preventing him from moving off. “That’s the stupidest--”

“I can distract them, give you enough time to circle back and find a better place to hide. They’ll shove off with me, then another ship’ll come by soon and need an extra hand.” 

The sound of a pistol being cocked interrupts their hushed argument. In their crouched position, they both glance up to see swatches of dark blue uniforms peeking through the trees ahead. 

“Come on out, now, the both of ye!” one of the sailors taunts. 

Robert’s expression shutters as he rises to his feet and steps out onto the path. 

“If it isn’t Robert Cutter himself!” the officer crows. “Performed quite the disappearing act on us a few years back. Looks like fate caught up with you, though, hmm?”

“Looks like,” he mocks. Two of the lackeys grab hold of each arm; he bites back a grunt when the officer punches him in the stomach. 

“And where’s yer lady friend?” one of the sailors asks. “Come on out, miss. Don’t be shy!” 

Realizing that staying hidden is a hopeless tactic, Elena makes her way out of cover. Three of the men whistle at her, while the officer leers at her with something akin to delight. 

“I shoulda known the two of you would be mixed-up in this. Sinking a crown vessel, that’s child’s play for you two. Murdering a governor and an admiral is more yer style, idn’t it?” 

As one of the sailors strips her of her weapons, Elena glares at the officer. Though she can’t recall his name, he’s one of the men who stormed the beach while defending the Admiral. 

“We’re innocent of both those crimes,” she says. “Though I don’t expect you’ll believe me.” 

His shoulders shake with a sardonic chuckle. “No, I’m afraid not. Yer a pirate -- you only know how to do two things with that mouth of yers. The first is lying and the second is su--”

Elena grabs him by the shoulder and headbutts him. The officer caterwauls and clutches his nose. Blood trickles down his chin and drips onto his uniform in fat, red splotches. She hides her wince as Robert laughs long and hard, ignoring the sailors’ orders to shut up. 

“You bitch! I saw you make off with the Admiral. You dragged him inside that temple and sacrificed him to Satan himself!” 

“She’s a witch?” one of the sailors asks.

“I thought she were a pirate,” another mutters.

“I’m not a witch,” Elena scoffs. “And, for the last time, I didn’t kill your admiral.” 

“I don’t care what you are!” The officer yanks a handkerchief from his coat and dabs it against his nose. “Right now, yer a means to an end. We’ve heard all about the bounty on yer head. We’ll use you to draw Mortemer out. Besides, what’s better than catching one pirate?”

“Two pirates!” one of the sailors cackles. 

“Well, technically,” Robert says, “you’ve already got two of us here--” 

“Oh, shut up, Cutter!” the officer spits. “Take them down to the beach, men.”

The bickering around her fades to an annoying buzz as she trudges along the path. If they do manage to get word to Edward, she knows there’s no force that will stop him from coming after her. That he would be walking straight into a trap would cross his mind, and then he would do it anyway. Elena can’t fault him for it, because she would do the same. And, if it weren’t for the high probability of being executed, she would go along with it. But she doesn’t want their long-awaited reunion to be side-by-side at the gallows.

She comes to a sudden stop. The caravan of men behind her scowl and curse.

“What’re you doin’? Keep movin’!”

She digs her boots into the sand, lurching when the sailor beside her shoves her hard. Turning to catch Robert’s eye, she snatches the sailor’s pistol from his holster and takes aim. 

“Run.” 

Robert yanks free as she fires. The sailor shouts and grabs his bleeding arm, falling back when the other two come rushing forward. She twirls the pistol in her grip and smacks it upside another’s head, using the momentum to shove him into the bushes. The third man tackles her from the side and they crash down onto the sand. Struggling for control, Elena manages to work her leg underneath his massive form and lands a solid kick between his legs. The officer rushes over just as the man rolls off, clutching his injured pride. 

“Restrain her, you fucking--” he cuts off his own order with a sharp cry. He collapses onto his ass, clutching his leg as blood soaks his white breeches. “She-- she shot me! Get that pistol from her, you idiots!” 

A massive weight crushes her from behind and shoves her down onto her stomach. The sailor she shot slams his fist into her side, knocking the wind out of her. Elena gasps for air, choking on bits of sand. He plucks the pistol from her loosened grip with ease. “Hold her down,” the officer demands. “She’ll be less trouble if she’s unconscious.” 

Fear pounds through her chest when the sailor’s hand seizes a chunk of her hair and yanks her up. The last thing she sees is the pistol coming down. 

Underneath him, her body goes limp. He waits a few more seconds before pulling a length of rope from his pocket. After tying her up with a decent-enough knot, he sits up to assess his arm and check on his crew. 

“Oi,” he grumbles as he glances down the path, “where’d Cutter go?”

\------

The brig’s interior becomes a familiar sight by the second day. 

That’s how long Elena thinks she’s been down here. The solitary porthole above her head is caked with too much filth to let any proper light in. So, she calculates the hours by the sorry excuses for meals that they bring her. A few crumbs of hardtack and bits of dried mystery meat make up most of her diet. 

Waking up on a cell floor with her hands and feet bound wasn’t an enjoyable moment. If she could rate it, she’d give it a solid zero out of ten. Especially when that immediate rush of panic ebbed to allow a fresh wave to roll over her: she was being carted along to be killed. 

The one plus side of her new accomodations, though, is the cold wall of the hull. It’s as good as any cold compress against her injured body. What she wouldn’t give for one of those ibuprofens she stowed away in her duffel bag -- the bag that’s buried on the outskirts of town on Santo Domingo. 

She hopes that Robert was able to escape. She hopes that he was able to get word to Edward not to come after her. She hopes that when Edward inevitably ignores the warning and comes anyway, she manages to intercept him herself. What’s that old saying about if wishes were horses? 

Footsteps on the stairs tear Elena from her woolgathering. The slow, measured pace of them tells her who it is before he shows his face. 

“How’s the leg?” she asks when the officer steps in front of her cell door. 

Officer Horowitz levels a grimace at her, his lips turning inward with disgust. He drops the wooden plate in his hand and kicks it underneath the door with his good leg; the meager contents spill across the dirty planks. Elena glances down at her dinner and back up at him. “I’m giving your presentation a one out of five stars on Yelp.” 

“That nonsense yer spouting has gotten old,” he spats. “It’s a good thing, then, that we’re about to anchor. You and yer pirate captain’ll be dancin’ in the gallows soon enough.”

She bites back that daunting feeling of failure and settles back against the wall with a shrug. 

“Sounds like I don’t have much time, then. I guess I should come clean with my sins and all that.”

“I haven’t the slightest interest in hearing about yer--”

“Really?” She tilts her head and studies him. “You don’t want to know what I did with the Admiral?” 

Horowitz bristles at the name, but shakes his head. “I don’t want to hear the gristly details of yer sick, ritualistic--” 

“For the last time,” Elena says with a dramatic sigh, “I didn’t kill him. I opened up a hole in the universe, and I put him in it.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“It’s not, really. It was as easy as tying your shoe. If you know how to do that, of course. I don’t like to presume.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, he scoffs. “Then where is he?” 

“I sent him to his worst nightmare: a place with no one to listen to him. There’s this remote island in the south Atlantic Ocean, about twelve-hundred miles from Argentina. Sorta like _The Cask of Amontillado_ \-- which you’ll sadly never get to read, it’s a great story -- but on forty square miles of uninhabited land. And without chaining him up or burning him alive.”

“You marooned him,” he surmises. 

“Marooning him implies that I gave him some food and a gun. But I didn’t. The island won’t be discovered until 1767. The Spanish explorers name it _Isla de Aislamiento_ \-- that means ‘Isolation Island.’ Upon arrival, they’ll find the oddest thing: a human skeleton, wearing what appears to be a British naval uniform and a few medals.”

“I don’t believe a word you say.” Clenching his hands along the cell door, he sneers at her. “Yer a filthy, goddamned liar. How are you to know the future?”

“I read about it.” 

Which is the truth, but Elena knows how little that will matter. After teaming up with Robert upon her first arrival back to her time, she found herself curious about Admiral Cochrane’s fate. After coming across a man with an identical rank and surname, she worried that she’d made a mistake and sent him farther into the future, that maybe he’d managed to escape and make something of himself. But the portrait of the other Admiral Cochrane, famed for losing the Battle of New Orleans, resembled nothing of the man she’d dealt with. 

Eventually, one of Robert’s many contacts sent her the diary entry of a Spanish explorer that detailed their unusual discovery. They left the corpse where it lay and pilfered the medals to melt down and mash into coins. The entry was as good as any death certificate. 

Judging by the look of disgust on his face, Horowitz doesn’t seem to find her explanation all that funny. 

“I knew you were a witch the first time I saw you. No matter how you spin it, I know that you killed the Admiral. Watching you two hang will be the highlight of my year.” 

He spits at her through the door and turns to go. Elena waits for the sound of his uneven footfalls to fade before she slumps back against the wall. Despite the heavy weight on her shoulders, she can’t help the small sliver of joy at knowing Edward is near. Horowitz had all but confirmed it, with his gleeful chatter about them hanging together. 

She just has to make sure that part doesn’t come to pass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few _Uncharted_ ones, but they’re all very minuscule. Think of them like the hidden pictures puzzles in those Highlight Magazines they always had in waiting rooms when you were a kid.


	5. Chapter 5

The familiar sight of Port Monarque is a welcome one, despite the awaiting doom. 

Her wrists bound with shackles, Elena sits between two officers as they row into the harbor in a jolly boat. She knows enough of the city to find a decent place to hide and formulate a plan -- if she can manage to escape their clutches. One of the officers makes crude remarks at her, knowing she can’t retaliate with the dirty rag stuffed into her mouth. Elena’s too busy scouring the ships anchored down along the port. She can’t be certain if Edward’s is among them or not, what with her poor vantage point and the endless spider web of rigging lines. If  _ Salacia’s Fortune _ is here, it’s likely tucked away in a cove to hide from navy patrols. 

The boat glides up beside one of the lower docks, some distance from the main thoroughfare. The officers tie to it before the crude one hoists Elena up and over his shoulder. He slaps her ass for good measure, ignoring her muffled threats as he climbs onto the dock. She hears the harbormaster’s approach. His low, gruff tone is almost familiar. Before she can struggle towards a better view, there’s the metallic cry of blade on blade. The officer dumps Elena onto the dock, where she flips onto her back and spots Jonas’s scarred eye underneath the ridiculous hat he wears. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” is what she says, though it comes out in a garbled mess. 

“A little help?” he asks as his blade clangs against the officers’. 

Elena shifts her weight and cocks back her legs, landing a solid kick against the crude one’s ass. He stumbles before falling over the side and into the water. Jonas feints high, then sweeps his boot out and knocks the other officer to his back. Elena follows behind with another kick, shoving him off the dock to join his crew member. 

Yanking her to her feet, Jonas slices through the gag and urges her down the dock and into the busy market. They slip behind an empty stall for him to strip off his coat.

“Cover yer chains with this.” 

Elena takes the coat and folds it over her wrists as best she can, feeling as if every nerve in her body is vibrating at the highest frequency. 

“Jonas, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. Where are the others? Is Edward with--”

“Aye, we’re all here,” he cuts her off, squinting down the port with his good eye as he keeps watch. She sweeps her gaze across the roaming villagers, unsure of what she’s looking for. Before she can ask, Jonas tips his head for them to continue on. She follows him through the market and up onto the serpentine streets that climb along the island. The city center is just as bustling, making it easy for them to dodge in and out of the crowds and down tight alleyways. Across the tiers of rooflines, Elena catches a glimpse of the sun sinking towards the sea. Her boot clips on a loose cobblestone and she trips, smacking her shoulder into a dress shop’s window to keep from falling onto her face.

“Look alive, now,” Jonas mutters from up ahead, glancing back to make sure she’s keeping up. Even he can see the pale color in her cheeks and the small winces that make her jaw twitch; she’s in no shape to be climbing about like this, but there’s no way around it. “Weren’t my choice to have the rendezvous location all the way up here. I would offer to carry ye, if there weren’t the threat of you handing my arse to me.” 

She shoves down her injured pride and musters up a grin. “Where is this ‘rendezvous,’ anyway?” 

“Right here.”

The answer draws her up short. Ahead of them is a low, bricked building with a sign of two crossed hammers and an anvil. Jonas swings open the door and ushers her inside, before closing and locking it behind them. Three heads turn at the noise of their arrival. 

Robert nods at her from his perch near the fire, his hair and clothes soaked. Tripp grins at her and gives a little wave, beckoning them over. Before they can step farther into the room, though, Elena is bowled over by a blur of brown and blue. 

“Yer a right bastard,” Charlie chokes out as she wraps her arms around Elena and squeezes tight. “Making us search the world over for you, and here you are.”

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” Elena manages to speak around her dwindling air supply. 

Charlie pulls back and tucks her against her side. “Oh, love, I’m only teasin’. We’d’ve sailed to another planet and searched that world over for you, too, if we could.” 

Before Elena can get her hands free from under the coat, Charlie reaches over and wipes at her tears. Swallowing back the elation that clogs her throat, Elena takes another look around the shop. Something tells her that she can’t start jumping for joy just yet. 

“The others -- they’ve been captured, haven’t they?”

“Aye, they have,” Robert growls from his post. “I tried to talk some sense into him, but the boy’s a fool.” 

Elena doesn’t bother asking who the fool is. She lets Charlie guide her towards the fire and sit her down. Tripp approaches and takes the coat from her, guiding a small, hot poker to weaken the chain until the shackles fall away. As if a witch herself, Charlie produces a plate of food and a mug of water, pushing both of them into Elena’s shaking hands. 

“Fuck.” She tightens her grip to the point of pain. “I hoped you all would stay away.”

Jonas reaches down to squeeze her shoulder as he passes by. “And leave ye to deal with those navy dogs yerself? Not a chance.” 

“Robert got word to us yesterday, but we’d already decided to sail into the trap we knew was laid out,” Charlie explains. “We couldn’t be sure if we’d be able to get you out or not, so we split up. We left Ginny and some of the other crew back on Santo Domingo, to have as backup in case they brought you there. Once we got here, Jonas and I escaped in the jolly boat while the navy captured the ship. Edward, Maggie, and Henry are locked down in the dungeon of the governor’s mansion.”

Elena swallows the last of her food and sets the plate aside. Her nails drum against the mug as she vibrates with a newfound energy. She’s so close to having her family back together. 

“Okay,” she drags the word out, glancing between her friends, “so why are we all just sitting here? Let’s go bust them out.”

“Yer in no shape to be--”

“What?” Elena snaps as she straightens up in her seat. “No, I’m fine. Look, I made a happy plate and everything.”

“Lass,” Jonas says with a grimace, “ye barely made it up here. I have to agree with Charlie on this one.” 

From his spot near the fire, Robert chuckles and shakes his head. “Best to conserve yer energy and let her come along. God knows I spent too much time in the beginning of our partnership trying to shake her off. She’ll be a colossal pain in the arse if you leave her behind.”

“Thank you!” Elena exclaims, glad to have someone sticking up for her -- even if it’s hidden behind an insult. “I mean, even if you did leave me here, I’d definitely follow you guys anyway.”

Charlie makes a show of heaving out a reluctant sigh, but nods her head. “Alright, love. Ye’ve won this round.”

“Good. Because I’ve got a plan.”

\------

The dress shop is rather easy to break into, all things considered. 

For a stupid, fleeting moment, Elena worries about how she’s going to disarm the security system, before remembering the closest thing to that would be vicious dogs. Which, luckily, the dress shop doesn’t keep around. 

“Help me find the ugliest dress in here,” she instructs as they follow her into the dark shop. Jonas and Robert harumph at each other in that middle-aged man sort of way before wandering around. 

“This one is particularly atrocious if I do say so myself.” 

Near the back, Charlie holds up a garish, silken concoction of ribbons and lace in a searing shade of what would be called neon green in about two-hundred years. Elena crosses the room and runs a hand over the fabric, amazed by its hideousness. 

“It’s like if Tim Gunn told you to sew a traffic light.”

“I’ve no idea who or what that is,” Charlie laughs. “But I think this is our winner.” 

They don’t bat an eye at her stealing the dress. But when she stops them a few blocks from the governor’s mansion and asks them to rough her up, they all suddenly turn into law-abiding citizens. 

“We’re not gonna  _ beat you up _ , lass.”

“Ye said ye just needed the dress!”

Even Robert -- who once strongly advocated for her to be tossed overboard, fought her in a sword fight, and blew up a cave while she was inside it -- makes an uncomfortable face at the request. 

“Good god,” Elena mutters as she tears at the fabric herself. “You’d think I asked you all to hack me into pieces. A good act only works with a good costume!” 

Satisfied with the dress’s destruction, she runs her hand over the alley’s dusty brick and spreads it across her cheek and neck. Charlie wipes off some of her own lip rouge and draws it over Elena’s lips and across to her left dimple. Without a mirror, Elena can only guess from their expressions that her attempt has worked. 

It certainly seems to work on the guards, who jump from their posts near the mansion’s basement door when she comes careening out of the dark. 

“Please! Please, help me!” she cries, grasping at the tangled tendrils of her hair. “My husband --the… he’s the Viscount Beauchamp! We’ve been attacked by… by these ruffians! They robbed him and left him bleeding in the street. Please, you have to come help!”

“Ma’am, where is--”

“Oh, this way! This way, please, you have to help him!” she begs the two men, dragging one of them by the arm towards the road and past a dark alley. “He’s bleeding! I nearly fainted at the sight of him. He’s got hemophilia, as I’m sure you know!”

“No, ma’am, I’m not sure what that--” 

Jonas springs up from behind a wagon and knocks the first officer out with fist to the jaw. The second officer backpedals and begins to draw his pistol, but Charlie grabs the weapon from him and whips him across the head. He drops to the ground in a heap of red fabric. 

“Hemophilia wasn’t discovered until 1828,” Robert comments as he drags the men into the alley and ties them up. Elena reaches down to tear off two more strips of her dress and offers it to him to use as gags. 

“Sorry, I left my wikipedia entry on genetic disorders back at home.”

“C’mon, you two!” Charlie beckons from the road. 

The four of them hustle back to the mansion, relieved to see the guards’ abandonment hasn’t been noticed yet. Charlie leads the way through the branching service tunnels, ushering them into empty rooms when more guards pass by on their rounds. As they wait for the sound of footsteps to retreat, Elena hears the unmistakable noise of Maggie and Henry arguing about his cooking.

“Some things never change, ay, love?” Charlie turns to wink at her before poking her head back out. “Coast is clear. Let’s go get our crew.”

And then they’re walking down into the dungeon and Henry’s voice is getting louder, until their footsteps start to echo down and the arguing ceases -- probably used to getting reprimanded by the guards, but Elena can’t bear the silence so she pushes past Charlie and snatches a ring of keys from a peg on the wall and races towards the cell where she can see the cloth of someone’s coat pressed against the bars and the keys are rattling in her hand and--

“It’s… Elena, is that ye? Elena!” 

A bucket clangs to the floor as Henry scrambles to his feet, followed quickly by Maggie. The nerves burning inside of her are doused by the realization that Edward isn’t with them. As Elena unlocks the door and throws it open, she tries to keep the disappointment from her face. She was so sure she would find Edward with them, and now the proverbial rug has been pulled out from underneath her once more. 

“We missed ye somethin’ terrible, lass!” Maggie beams as she sweeps Elena into her arms and hugs her tight. 

Guilt gnaws at her stomach; she returns the hug, smothering a laugh when Henry throws his arms around them both. 

“Alright, alright,” Jonas says, “give our gal some breathin’ room.” 

Henry and Maggie step back, though the latter keeps a hand on Elena’s back, rubbing up and down with gentle strokes. “Now, where has our captain run off to?”

“The guards took ‘im away ‘bout an hour ago.”

“Probably to rough ‘im up a bit to make him look good for the mornin’ crowd.” Henry grimaces at Elena’s alarmed expression. “Sorry, lass.” 

Charlie clenches her fists and shakes her head. “None of us are going to the gallows. And that includes our captain.”

“Aye,” Jonas agrees. “And I’ve just the--”

Noise from back down the corridor interrupts his plan. Standing at the end are two guards, each struggling to keep hold of Edward as he thrashes against them. 

“Charlie!” he calls. “Charlie, is she here? Did you find--”

“The pirates’ve gotten free!” one of the guards cries out. “Cut them off before they escape!” 

The crew races down the hall, their swords singing as they wrench them free. Elena pulls the dagger from her boot and chases after them. The other guard drops his hold on Edward and brandishes his sword. Rearing back, Edward headbutts him into the wall and snatches the sword as it falls; he swivels on his heel, knocking the first guard into an empty cell and slamming the door shut. More shouts of alarm filter down from above, calling out for reinforcements.

“Hurry!” Edward yells at his crew as they head for the exit. “There’s a tunnel we can use to…” his words trail off, lost under the pounding of their footsteps. “...Elena.”

Despite the dire situation, Elena can’t help the giddy smile that forms when Edward finally spots her. Every part of her body feels as if it’s going to spontaneously combust as she nears the end. His lips move in the shape of her name again, then again, and then loud enough for her to hear. 

“Elena!” two voices shout.

Confusion cuts through the euphoria when a hand seizes her dress and yanks her back. With an ear-splitting crash, a massive portcullis drops down from the ceiling and buries its sharp spikes into the floor. Right where she would have been. 

Though the crew is only mere feet away, she’s sealed from joining them by eight-thousand pounds of wrought iron. Her heart plummets at the realization. Beside her, Robert turns and fires on the guard who released the latch, hitting him square in the neck. Boots thunder across the floor above. Edward rushes to the gate, trying in vain to push it back up. The crew crowds around him to try and help, but it’s no use. 

“More guards are on their way,” Robert tells them. “If we want any chance at escape, we need to go now.” His glare moves from Elena and over to the crew. “The same goes for you.”

“No!” Edward grits his teeth and rattles the gate, cursing when it doesn’t budge. “No, we’re not leaving! If -- if we can find something to wedge under here, we can--”

The guards’ shouts grow louder as they close in. Elena covers his hands with hers and squeezes, her pulse racing at touching him for the first time in over two years.

“You have to go.”

His face collapses into a look of despair, his eyes wild with panic. “I won’t! You-- you’re here and I just got you back. I won’t leave you behind.” 

Robert barks her name and tugs at her arm. “If we don’t go now, they’ll catch all of us. Go!” 

“He’s right, Captain,” Charlie says.

“I-- we’ll wait for you. We’re anchored off the eastern coast. Meet us there and--”

“Edward, listen to me,” Elena pleads, digging her nails into his skin. “There’s no time. We’ll keep them busy and give you time to sail off.” 

“And leave you here?” he hisses in disbelief, frantically shaking his head. “Never.”

Robert tugs her again, harder this time, and she stumbles back away from the gate. Edward reaches through the bars and tries desperately to grab hold of her once more. Seeing their opportunity, Jonas and Maggie capture him and wrestle him back towards the exit. “No, we’re not leav-- no, Elena!” 

“We’ll meet you back on--” Elena cuts herself off, not wanting to shout out the location. “--where Ginny and the others are! I promise.” 

Racing down the hall after Robert, she watches over her shoulder until the crew disappears from sight. They reach the fallen guard, where Elena tucks her dagger away and steals the man’s sword. It’s not like he would get any use out of it, anyway. Robert guides her down behind a stack of barrels as the guards jog past. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his gaze trained on the stairs. “But if they hadn’t left, it would’ve all been for naught.”

She stifles the urge to cry as frustration and outrage boil over inside of her. This isn’t the time or place for a breakdown, though -- not while trapped within the enemy’s dungeon. She empties out her lungs with a sigh and draws in a calming breath. 

“I understand.” 

“Good. We’re going to play this one just like we did at Edinburgh Castle, and then we’ll be scot-free.”

She wrinkles her nose at the term. “Was that a pun?” 

“Hush, lass. Now, hand me that powder keg they were kind enough to stow down here for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward’s new ship went through a few names (The Hangman, The Seeker, etc) before I decided that he’d probably go for something similar to his last. Salacia is the Roman goddess of salt water and the open sea.


	6. Chapter 6

Two days later, the brigantine they found passage on arrives in Santo Domingo’s port. 

In the grand scheme of things -- that being the two years she spent hunting down a permanent trip back to the past, and the several weeks she’s spent since then hunting down Edward himself-- it isn’t that much time. Elena’s heart still races, though, when she sees the familiar form of  _ Salacia’s Fortune _ in the harbor.

“I’ll collect yer bag and bring it aboard before I leave,” Robert tells her as they make their way down the port where Edward’s ship awaits. “We can say our farewells then, and you can thank me for saving yer sorry arse again and again.”

Elena snorts, prompting a chuckle out of him. “Please, as if.”

“I may not have always shown it, but I did come to value yer friendship.”

“Even when I kicked your ass and stole your sword?”

“Ah, but we weren’t friends then, were we?” he points out. “Besides, we both know now that I was just going easy on ye.”

“Oh, were you?” 

The gangplank jostles under their weight; Elena ignores Robert’s warning to be careful as she races up to the ship’s deck. It’s nearly empty, save for three pirates who turn to frighten off the unwelcome strangers on their boat. 

“Oi, who in the devil’s blaze--” one of them starts to shout before they’re silenced by a squeal.

“Elena!” Ginny shrieks, racing across the deck and plowing into her. Elena wraps her arms around the girl and hugs her tight. “We missed you so, so much.” 

“I missed you, too.” Elena pulls back to study the girl. “Oh my god, Ginny, you’re so tall. How did you get so tall?”

“Being sixteen helps, I guess,” she grins. 

Elena’s thoughts screech to a halt. “Sixteen? But -- wait, how long was I gone?” 

“It’ll be six years next month. But we never gave up on you! Captain always told us to keep believing that you would come back.” Ginny looks up at her with those bright brown eyes of hers. “And you did, see?” 

“Yeah,” Elena agrees, her voice breaking upon the word. “I did.”

Time worked differently in the future, that she always knew. But the last time she’d come back, she never learned what year it was before being dragged back to the future. Knowing that almost six years had passed since Edward last saw her made his reaction in the governor’s mansion a little more understandable. 

“Captain’s out looking for you right now, actually, but he should be back soon. I told him to stay on the ship, that you would head here first  _ obviously _ ,” Ginny stresses the word and rolls her eyes, “but you know how he is.”

Robert sighs from beside them. “Aye, we know. I’ve business to attend to in town, but if I see him, I’ll herd him yer way, Elena.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, trying to convey as much of her gratitude into the two words as she can. “And good luck with your own search.”

The beginnings of a genuine smile flicker onto Robert’s face before he clears his throat, nodding at her once before disappearing back down the gangplank. Ginny wraps her hand around her arm and tugs. 

“C’mon. You can meet the rest of the crew while we wait for the others to return.”

As much as she wants to run into town and hunt him down herself, Elena realizes that staying in one place in a town this large makes the most sense. She lets Ginny lead her over to the other two pirates, one of whom introduces herself as Ginny’s girlfriend, Lottie. They barrage her with questions about the future, most of which she skirts around answering -- she’s already caused enough trouble with the space-time continuum as it is. By the time the rest of the crew arrive, the sun has begun its descent. They take turns sweeping Elena into their sweaty, rum-scented hugs and their good-natured bickering. 

“The Cap’n’ll be sorry that we beat him to ye,” Maggie says. 

“Glad to have ye back, Elena.” Henry claps a hand on her shoulder and squeezes tight. “None of these swabs give my cookin’ a fair chance.”

“He once scraped barnacles off the hull and fried ‘em!” Kendrick exclaims.

From her perch atop the railing, Ginny gags. “He called them a ‘Caribbean delicacy’.” 

“The only thing delicate ‘round here is yer stomachs.” 

“They don’t have the experienced palette that I do,” Elena points out.

“I dunno, I don’t think even you could’ve--” Ginny pauses, her long braids swinging as she jerks back around to scan below. “Oi! Captain’s back!” 

Elena races to the railing and grips it tight, nearly throwing herself overboard in her attempt to catch sight of him. Even in the dimming light, she picks Edward out of the crowd with ease. He’s distracted, moving steadily along the wharf and scouring the throngs of people. Too busy looking for her that he doesn’t see her aboard his ship. She calls his name, once, then again, before his head finally snaps up. 

He stumbles to a halt in the middle of the market. A woman runs into him, chastising him in a rapid burst of Spanish. He ignores the woman, sheer elation spreading across his face. His grin is almost blinding in the low light.

“Elena!” 

Shouting her name seems to kickstart him. The sack of food in his hand drops to the ground, forgotten; mangoes and bread loaves scatter across the planks. He darts through the crowd, dodging shoppers and vendors with ease before leaping up onto the gangplank. He reaches the top just as Elena does and swings her up into his arms, crushing her against him. 

“You’re here,” he exhales. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I would be gone for so--” 

He silences her with a kiss, and then with another when she tries again to apologize.

“Time matters not. If it had been a hundred more days or a hundred more years, I would have waited,” he assures her. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.  _ You’re here _ .” 

“You keep saying that.”

His breath escapes him in a soft chuckle, leaning into her touch as she cups his cheek. “I may keep doing so for the rest of my life.”

“Then I’ll be here to hear you.” At the naked hope in his gaze, she can’t help but tell him now. “We found a permanent way back. It’s what took me so long, searching for a way to stay.”

“Forever?” he repeats, the word tasting like ambrosia upon his lips. 

“Yeah,” she chokes out. His thumb makes gentle sweeps along her forehead, brushing back the stray hairs there. “Forever.”

“Alright, you lovebirds.” Charlie climbs up onto the deck with a crate and sets it down with a rattle. “I say we all have a drink--”

“--or five!” Kendrick adds.

“--to celebrate our lass’s long-awaited return. What say you lot?”

The chorus of ayes echoes across the wharf. Edward drops his hold from her waist and reaches down for her hand, nodding his head towards the crew. 

“Shall we?”

“Sure, why not.” She bumps their linked hands against him. “I’ve got time.”

The party continues long after the sun slinks away. Unmoored from its daytime hideaway, the moon drifts high into the sky, casting a brilliant glow across the ship as the crew celebrates. Elena’s feet hurt from taking a turn across the makeshift dance floor with each crew member. Some of the shanties she knows and some she doesn’t -- though, in her defense, they don’t seem to know them all that well, either, especially by the sixth bottle of rum.

“Ye’ve got to show us some future dances one of these days, ‘lena.”

She shakes her head at Henry’s request, side-stepping to avoid her feet being crushed again and giggling at the idea. “I’m not sure you guys would be able to handle my twenty-first century dancing.” 

As if he can sense that she’s had her fill of Henry’s clumsy footwork, Edward appears beside her with an open palm. 

“May I step in, Miss McTavish?” 

Elena eagerly takes his hand. Henry does something resembling a curtsy and moves off to snatch up another partner. Stepping into the circle of his arms, she rests her head on Edward’s chest and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for the rescue.”

Edward brushes his lips against her hair and hums. “I suppose I should be the one thanking you for rescuing us. Even if you sent me into a panic, retreating back into enemy territory like that.”

She wants to laugh at his worries, but the heartache in his tone tells her to recount her harrowing adventures another time. Instead, she gives a reassuring squeeze to their linked hands. 

“I knew that you had the opportunity to escape,” she explains. “Even if it meant leaving me behind.”

His chest tightens underneath her. “‘Tis not fair to use my own words against me like that.”

“Not fair to guilt me for saving your asses.”

“Hmm. Touché.” There is nothing but the drunken crooning of the crew and the distant lapping of waves for a moment, then: “It’s getting rather late. Should I show you to our cabin?”

“I’d like that.”

The interior is just as she remembers. 

The same Persian rug, the same tidy stacks of books and papers atop the desk, the same pile of pillows that Edward insists on having but never bothers to put back on the bed. Returned to her by Robert during the party, her duffel bag sits on top of her trunk, still in her favorite spot under the window. Her pillow, embroidered with a rose when Kendrick wanted to show off his sewing skills, lays propped against the headboard. A small jar of seashells she collected from their previous travels is tucked away safely in the bookcase. A spare coat of hers hangs from the chair; she runs her fingers over it, tears springing to her eyes at the sight. 

“I couldn’t bear the thought of stowing it away,” Edward says, closing the cabin door behind them. 

“You kept it this way? For six years?”

“For five years, eleven months, and two days.” Elena covers her mouth and drags in an unsteady breath. He crosses the room and guides her into his arms. “I wasn’t lying, Elena, when I told you that I would wait for you. We weren’t sitting idle, of course. We sailed across the Atlantic, o’er to Portugal and made a few trips around the Mediterranean, but there was always a… pull to return here.”

“To home,” she finishes for him.

“Aye. I even sought the help of a mystic in Constantinople to try and reach you, but I was only able to catch a glimpse. You were surrounded by other pirates, on a half-formed ship. And there were all these strange lights.”

Elena squints at the necklace he wears in concentration, scanning through her memories, when the realization hits her. 

“That’s… you were there. On the set, just before the compass took me here the first time.” 

“Madam Fatima did say time was tricky,” he says, to which Elena acknowledges with a humorless chuckle. “Were you… earlier, were you speaking the truth? That you found a way to stay? I have always hoped to hear you say those words, but even… even if you cannot stay forever, I would never turn my back on this strange arrangement that time has gifted us. But I would like to prepare my heart, if I could.”

Taking his face between her hands, she tilts his head down so she can meet his gaze directly. 

“This isn’t some temporary fix. I spent two years searching the world over for a permanent way back to you. And sure, I don’t have faith with most things in life. The one thing I do have faith in, though, is us.” 

Edward lays his hand over hers and turns to press a kiss against her palm. Under the heavy lids of his eyes, she can see the faint glittering of tears. “In fact,” she continues, “I got you something from the future to prove it to you.”

“I don’t require any further proof than you here beside me.”

“Hush and let me give you my souvenir.” Elena crosses over to the duffel bag and unzips the interior pocket. She pulls a small leather box out and hands it to him. “Open it,” she prompts when he merely stares at the object. 

The golden ring sits on a velvet perch, outshone only by the deep blue stone that rests in the center. “It’s lapis lazuli. It reminded me of our first time up in the crow’s nest together, on  _ Poseidon’s Revenge _ . Standing up there with you, with that endless stretch of sea and sky. That was our first moment, and I wanted the ring I chose for you to embody that.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a secretive sort of smile. Before she can ask, though, he steps over to his desk. From the drawer, he pulls a wooden box out and hands it to her.

“I believe that we are bound by the tides of fate, for I purchased this for you, as well.” 

“Okay, see, that’s not fair. I made a cheesy joke about souvenirs, and you come in with your Lord Byron line.”

His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Who?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a flap of her hand and opens the box. Nestled on a bed of silk, a ring gleams in the candlelight. Thin vines of gold twist up along the band to frame an opalescent stone. The multicolored flecks inside the stone glimmer as Edward plucks the ring from the box and reaches for her trembling hand.

“It is a moonstone. The merchant I bought it from said that it was to symbolize protection and to bring estranged lovers together.” 

“It’s beautiful,” she tells him as he slides it onto her finger.

“Aye, almost as lovely as its wearer.”

“See, that’s the cheesy line I was waiting for,” Elena tells him with a soft giggle. He smiles and holds out his hand. The ring is a near-perfect size, she marvels as it works easily down his finger. “Pretty damn good for being several lifetimes away.”

“Five years, eleven months, and two days,” he repeats, his voice thick with the myriad of emotions that play across his face. 

“I’m here.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him even closer and sets her lips on his once, then again, reassuring him each kiss. “You can stop counting.” 

Her words strike a chord deep within; the taut lines of him seem to snap, his body colliding with hers as he backs her up against the wall. His touch is everywhere at once, clenching desperately around handfuls of her clothing and coaxing her free of the garments. Their kisses are frantic, heady things, deepening with the soft slide of his tongue against hers. Elena shoves off his coat and strips him of his belts, letting his sword clatter to the floor. The rest of his clothes join the pile at their feet. Edward wraps an arm around her back and hauls her even closer, grinning at her soft moan when her naked skin touches his. 

“I have dreamt of this moment for many a night,” he admits, his stubble tickling as he nips along her bare shoulder, grasping and tugging her hair back when it blocks his path. “I had… had hoped to go slow with ye, lass.” 

Elena hums at the hot feel of his hand skimming down her stomach and dragging across the soaked skin between her legs. Her head lolls back against the cabin wall. Not one to be idle, she glides her palm across the warm planes of his chest, leaving trails of heat in her wake. His hand becomes more determined, seeking out and rubbing the spot that makes her breath hitch in anticipation. 

“That’s really sweet of you and all,” she chuckles. “But my dreams of this moment mostly included you fucking my brains out.”

A strangled laugh escapes him, his head shaking as he leans down for another kiss. 

“Good to see that you haven’t lost that assertiveness.”

As if to prove it, Elena dances him backwards in a lazy sort of two-step until his knees hit the mattress. He loops an arm around her hips and tumbles down with her, smirking when she emits a little yelp of surprise. There, the warm length of his body slides along hers and a delicious wave of sensation follows. Her back arches towards the soft, wet heat of his lips as he worships the swell of her breasts. He traces the golden necklace she wears, curiosity lighting his dark eyes when he glances up at her. Elena gathers her hair and dips her head forward, letting him remove the whistle from around her neck. With great care, she takes it from him and lays it on the floor beside the bed. His mouth travels lower, lower, until her hands are scrambling across the blankets, her head twisting to the side as she gasps for him to keep going, for him to send her over the edge. Pleasure soaks into her like a warm bath, seeps deep into her skin and down into the marrow of her bones. 

“Edward,” she murmurs, then repeats, as if seeking repentance for the sinful sensation of his mouth on her. “Please, I…” her begging is lost under a ragged whine as her release washes over her.

As her heartbeat settles, Edward returns to the circle of her embrace. He hums with content as she strokes the bare skin of his back. A rumble works through his chest at the sight of her beneath him. 

“I have traveled the world over and have never found anything so exquisite as the taste of you.”

Elena settles back against the pillows and quirks her lips into a grin. “That’s high praise coming from someone who has Henry for a cook.” A giggle escapes her at his scoff. 

“You just wait,” he taunts, “you’ll be crowned taste-tester again.”

“I lived off of gas station food for a long while there,” she shrugs. “I think I can handle it.” 

Before he can ask about the foreign terminology -- she loves him, she really does, but that eager part of him to learn new things has to take a backseat to other enjoyment sometimes -- she winds both hands through his hair and hauls him down for a kiss. Hint taken, Edward’s lips return to hers with a fervor. She loses herself to his touch once more, answering in kind with her own when she reaches down to stroke him. With a growl, he pulls back to position himself between her legs. His fingers clamp around her hips as she makes aborted little thrusts against him, spurring him on.

“Elena,” he gasps as he sinks into her. He takes his sweet time letting her adjust to the feel of him, nibbling at the flushed skin of her throat and up to her earlobe. “Elena.”

“Yes,” she answers, cinching her legs tight around his waist. The sinful drag of him inside her is almost enough to throw her over the edge again. “Yes, god, Edward, I-- please, don’t--”

His lips crash down onto hers. His tongue swipes at her heavy bottom lip, lapping each praise from her mouth as he drives into her. Every sense is invaded by him -- his scent and his taste and his touch, until arousal clogs every synapse and every pore and the concept of spontaneous combustion tips closer to a theory for her. 

One of his hands slips down to stroke her to the rhythm of his thrusts. She moans, her nails digging into the solid muscle along his arms. 

“Elena, love,” he growls, his teeth scraping along her jaw as he speaks, “come for me.”

The first wave drags her under, a breaking wave of sensation cresting right on top of the last. She’s vaguely aware of her body going taut under his, of her toes curling against the slick skin of his thighs, of the beautiful sight of Edward tumbling over the edge with her. He pulls out and collapses next to her on the bed, holding her close as she settles against his chest. Elena stretches with a long groan, uncaring of the stupid, sated smile on her face. 

“Did you put in a skylight?” she murmurs.

The hand tracing nonsensical patterns across her shoulder slows. “What?”

“I was… making a joke. About seeing stars.”

“Oh.” Elena looks up to meet his confused gaze, prompting them both to chuckle at the poor joke. “I have missed this,” he says. “Not just the sex, but this -- you, here by my side. Poseidon himself could promise me a better sight, and I would not believe him.”

A hum leaves her as she nestles closer into his warmth, her throat tightening around the thousand things she wants to tell him.

“Do you remember what you said to me, that first night?”

“Aye, I do.”

Elena presses a kiss to his chest, just above his heart. 

“I think I’m ready for the rest of our story.”

\------

Soft slivers of fuschia and lilac seep through the salt-streaked window. Fissures of vivid orange follow after as sunlight spills over the long line of the horizon. Elena watches the play of colors across Edward’s face, lax with sleep. Of the past two times she’d returned to his side, she’d been flung back to her century before the next dawn came. It’s no wonder, then, that his arm has stayed firmly wrapped around her throughout the night. 

Gradually, he awakens; his arm flexes and his fingers clench and his eyes flutter open to search for her. 

“Good morning,” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Hi.” She leans up on her elbow and captures his lips with a kiss. “I’m glad you’re awake. I want to do something with you.”

“Really?” A lascivious grin spreads across his face. “Do tell.”

With a sigh, Elena swats at his chest and sits up. “C’mon, you rapscallion.” 

They locate their clothes and get dressed. After several more kisses, she leads him out onto the deck. The endless expanse of the ocean greets them, her water almost as blue as the morning sky. Santo Domingo is but a faint scratch of land behind them. With most of the crew still sleeping in their quarters, the shadowed corner of the stern is all theirs. Stepping up to the railing, she pulls the necklace from her pocket. 

“I noticed that last night. What is it?” he asks.

“It’s what I spent two years searching for.” She traces the initials on the whistle and looks up at him. “It’s my way back to my time. Before we found it, I’d almost given up. I was desperate enough to come back by another anomaly, just to have the chance to see you one last time.”

“One last…?” he trails off, reaching for her hand and taking it between both of his. “Elena?”

“You didn’t deserve to live like this, to wait on me to find my way back, to waste your time sailing the--”

“Listen good and well,” he demands, anger darkening his features just before he crushes her against him in a tight embrace. “Searching for you, waiting on you ‘twas never a waste. I love you, and I would’ve never given up on you. But I am damned glad that you’re here to stay now.” He pulls back enough to glance between the necklace and her. “What do you intend to do with it?”

“I’m returning it.”

Leaning up on her toes, she plants a quick kiss to his cheek before she stretches her arm out over the railing and lets go. The necklace shimmers as it falls, plummeting straight into the water below. A shuddering breath escapes them both as the whistle disappears beneath the waves. 

“By the way,” Elena says after a quiet moment, “I love you, too.”

“Oh. Good.” With a smirk, he pulls her closer. “It would be rather awkward if you didn’t.” He leans down and captures the laughter from her lips.

“Oi!” Henry shouts from behind them. “Breakfast is ready!”

They pull away from each other, sharing a wordless conversation as he draws closer.

“We’ll be down in a moment, Henry!” Edward calls across the deck. “Captain McTavish and I will take watch and let the rest of the crew eat first.”

“Nay, it may’ve been a long while, but I’m not fallin’ for that one again! C’mon and get it while it’s hot.”

“He’ll just keep at it if we don’t come,” she mutters.

“Aye, lass, he will.”

“Alright.” A smile follows her long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go.”

Reaching down for her hand, Edward leads her across the deck and out into the morning sun.


	7. Chapter 7

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, make it last forever, friendship nev-- ow! fuck you, scrubby pad! -- eeeeennddss.”

“Babe?”

From her squatted position on the shower floor, Gabby groans and leans back to poke her head around the corner. 

“Yeah?” she calls out.

“Your phone’s going off.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what does it say?”

There’s a brief pause, and then: “It’s all notifications from something called are slash time travel.”

“Ooh! Can you bring it to me?”

“My hands are covered in spackle.”

“Mine are covered in bleach, though,” she whines.

There’s a sigh, then the sound of footsteps coming down the creaky hallway. A moment later, Iman pushes open the door and winces. 

“Holy shit, how much Comet did you use?” 

Jumping to her feet, Gabby cheerfully abandons the chemical-induced haze of the guest bathroom shower and takes her phone from her girlfriend. 

“Thanks, honey.”

“The window’s… why isn’t the window open? I’m opening the window.” 

She nods her head, letting Iman fuss in the background while she swipes open the app. Her breath catches at the top post’s title:  _ I think I found the new celebrity time traveler _ .

The body of the post is copied from an article published by National Geographic that details a new historical discovery. 

_ “Our running theory was that this was a Dread Pirate Roberts situation,” Professor Belinda Doyle explained. Doyle, a professor of history at Boston College, focuses her work primarily on piracy and smuggling in the 17th to 18th centuries. “We believed that the strange gaps in the timeline meant that Captain McTavish was either killed in battle or hanged, and that another female pirate using that same name would take her place. We know now that wasn’t the case, thanks to the artifacts and documents that have been uncovered. Instead, McTavish was disappearing over the years to have a family. It would’ve been hard, certainly, for a female pirate during that time to take on raising a child. With the legend she made of herself, it makes sense that she would’ve kept her family as much of a secret as possible.” _

_ Several items were found on Tiburon, a tiny island in the northern Caribbean, including a painting, a glass ornament, and a small chest of other artifacts. Most of the objects are in near-mint condition. The blown-glass trinket is still wrapped in a cloth with a slip of parchment tucked inside. The documents inside the chest include ship logs, inventories, letters, and birthday cards. The most stunning relic is the family portrait, painted by famed artist Marianne de la Vega sometime in the 1760s. The painting features McTavish, her husband Captain Edward Mortemer, and their two children.  _

Past the text dump are side-by-side photos of Elena’s old headshot and a copy of the painting. 

“Oh, my god!” Gabby sprints out of the bathroom and down the hallway to show Iman. “Honey, look! Look, it’s her! I found her, it’s her!”

“Babe, stop, you’re going to get bleach all over the new… holy shit! It’s her!” 

\------

“You’re fidgeting again.”

“I don’t make it a habit of sitting in one place and not moving.”

“You do when you’re reading.”

“Ah, but I don’t have a book to keep me occupied though, do I?”

“I’ll tell you a story, Papa!” 

Elena puts a hand on their son’s shoulder as he starts to get up. “No, Christopher, you need to sit still, remember?”

He juts out his bottom lip in a pout. “I want to tell Papa a story.”

“You can tell me a story when we’re done,” Edward reassures. “I promise.” 

“Mama!” Andie coos from Edward’s lap, trying to stretch her short arms out and grab hold of her mother. “Mama!” 

He tries soothing their daughter with a toy, but her soft babbling soon turns to hiccupy cries. He shifts to catch Marianne’s eye from around the easel. 

“I apologize, but can we…?”

“‘Tis fine,” she murmurs, most of her concentration still on the canvas before her. 

Elena gathers Andie into her arms and bounces her on her lap, knowing she despises sitting still as much as her father does. 

“This would be much easier if it were one of your photographs,” he murmurs with a smirk. She thinks of the secret Polaroid she has stashed away, the one that she uses to take photos of their crew and their little family. 

“The camera won’t be invented for another sixty years, sorry. Besides, you’re the one who insisted on getting a portrait done.”

“It’ll be nice to have.”

“You only wanted one because Robert and Julien had one made.”

“Please try to keep steady,” Marianne warns again. 

They settle back into their chairs, having not realized they drifted closer during their teasing. Other than Andie demanding to swap laps a few more times, the rest of the afternoon is smooth sailing. Elena feels like she can make that comparison, given that they’ve sailed half the world over now. 

“Alright, you may stand.”

She releases the children, much to their relief, and they race through the door and out into the courtyard. Edward helps her up from her chair and they cross the room to see the painting. The background is still blank, save for a halo of deep blue around the family, but the rest is in full color. 

“It’s wonderful,” Elena murmurs, drawing her hand through the air to motion to each fine detail. “The ruffles in Andie’s dress, the pattern of my coat -- oh, and especially your eyes. A spectacular job, Miss de la Vega.” 

“Aye, a fantastic job,” Edward agrees, then draws up short. “You know what I’ve just realized, though, lass?”

“What?”

“We’ll have to have another one made once this one comes along,” he says, reaching out to palm the obvious swell of their child.

Pursing her lips, Elena tilts her head and studies the painting. 

“I don’t know. She is already in this one, technically.”

Edward snorts out a laugh, knocking his shoulder into hers and prompting a chuckle from her. “Same time next year, then, Miss de la Vega?” 

“Of course. I’ll have this sent to you once it’s finished.” Marianne glances up from organizing her paints to smile up at them. “I think it’ll look rather grand above your hearth.”

With a last farewell, Elena takes Edward’s hand and wanders out into the courtyard with him. The afternoon sun bakes along the stonework, but in the shadowed recesses, the summer day is tolerable. Palm fronds tickle their shoulders as they stroll through the breezeway.

“How are we going to tell her our ship doesn’t have a fireplace?”

“I think she already knows,” Elena assures. “The swords at our sides aren’t exactly subtle.” 

A grin flashes across his face. 

“Well, we do have a reputation to uphold.” 

The high-pitched sound of laughter leads them to the center courtyard, where Ginny and Lottie are chasing Christopher around a bubbling fountain. Andie cheers on from her seat at the fountain’s edge, the fine ruffles of her dress already soaked, tired from her earlier race. Rushing forward, Edward snatches Christopher up and throws him over his shoulder. 

“Have you prepared the rigging, sailor?”

“Nay!” he squeals with laughter, wriggling as his father tickles him. 

“‘Nay’?” Edward swings him with ease to his other shoulder. “Captain McTavish, I believe we’ve a lazy pirate on our hands. What are we to do with him?”

Elena hums, feigning a look of consideration as she boosts Andie down from the fountain ledge. Ginny scoops her up onto her hip, to which Elena shoots her a look of gratitude. 

“I don’t know. Maybe a night in the brig?”

“Mama, no!” Christopher protests in between giggles.

“No!” Andie interrupts. “Go home!” 

“An excellent idea.” Slowing his stride, Edward sidles up next to Elena. She takes the opportunity to ruffle their son’s hair as he chatters away. “What does the captain say, though?”

“Set course for Tiburon,” Elena agrees. “It’s time to go home.”


End file.
